Painful Pleasure
by cheesepuff
Summary: Ryou Bakura deals with his internal pain in a way he finds both painful and satisfying. Hard to explain in a summery. My attempt at angst, please let me know what you think.


My 1st attempt at angst. It's about Ryou, poor guy.  
  
cheesepuff: *runs up and gives Ryou a big hug* I'm so sorry! I hate to see you suffer.  
  
Ryou: *grumbles* Then why did you write an angst fic staring me?  
  
  
  
RYOU'S POV!  
  
~*~*~  
  
  
  
  
  
Painful Pleasure  
  
It's raining again. What's this, the third day in a row? I haven't been keeping track. Never have I really liked the rain. It makes me feel lonely, more lonely that I usually feel. It's not like I don't have friends, I do, it's just that I keep secrets from them that make me feel that I can't be close to them. My father is never around, he's always away on business. This leaves me to an empty house when I return home from somewhere. The only company I really have, I don't welcome. A power hungry spirit that resides within my own body. Not that he's really good company anyways, when he's not up to his own scheming devices he is usually silent.  
  
Turning my head from the window I had been gazing out, I make my way out of my room closing the door behind me. It clicks softly. Heading down the stairs and threw a hallway I walk into my kitchen. I reluctantly carry myself to one of the drawers, the one that we keep the knives in. Opening the drawer I reach in a remove a small, black handled blade. The thing gleams menacingly at me. Sighing I walk with it into the bathroom.  
  
Crouching over the bathtub I run the blade over a finger tip, drawing blood. I wince a little when the stinging sensation of pain starts. Warm, red liquid slowly runs down my hand and drips into the tub. There is no sense in making a mess, that is why I do this where there is no carpet to stain. I roll up my sleeve, and use the knife once again to penetrate my skin, this time up the inside of my lower arm.  
  
I'm not a suicidal person, honest. I would never end my own life. The feeling I get when I cut myself is strange, I almost have an odd kind of pleasure in doing so. It feels. good isn't the right word seeing as the pain is still quite real, satisfying. Yes, that is how I would put it. Satisfying. Although I'm not sure why.  
  
I know my life isn't as bad as it could be, and that I shouldn't feel depressed over my problems. So many people have it so much worse than me. I always feel guilty when I reach for a knife to use in this way. I know I should stop hurting myself, but it has turned into a habit. A bad habit at that, like cracking your knuckles or eating when you're bored.  
  
That exhilarating, painful satisfaction washes over me again as I pull the blade from my arm. Watching the blood drip from my wound I remembered how I had first started this whole mess. It had started a year or so ago when waves of depression had taken over me. My dad, as usual, was never around, and my other half had started his quest for power. He caused my friends to keep a safe distance between me and themselves. They were cautious around me because of him, never knowing which one of us they were really dealing with. A heavy feeling always surrounded me, a weight I felt I couldn't lift from my shoulders.  
  
I had been sitting in my room one day, sulking, when I noticed a safety pin sitting on my nightstand. I had picked it up and stared at it for some time before doing anything with it. Then if took the needle a pointed it to my palm. I sat this way for a while with needle just pressing on my skin. I couldn't bring myself to feel pain that just wasn't necessary, even if it was just the smallest prick.  
  
I felt disgusted at myself for being such a wimp. What the bullies at school said was all true, I was a disgrace. With a surge a foolish bravery and anger I had the needle driven into my skin. Hissing with pain I removed the pin and watched with a sick fascination as my blood oozed from the hole. The pain, little as it was, took my mind away from my other unhappy feelings.  
  
After that the wounds slowly grew in size. I no longer just poked myself with safety pins. I tried regular kitchen knives, but they were too dull. I found sharp blades that my father used sometimes in his work. These are what I used. My wounds were never deep though. I had just enough sense not to seriously injure myself.  
  
Setting down the knife in the sink, I turn the warm water of the shower on. After removing my clothes I step in. All the blood from my recent cuts are washed away. I'm not happy with what I do. If I could, I would go back to that first day with the safety pin stop my past self from doing what I now regret. I desperately wish I could stop causing harm to body. I know I have a sickness, but I'm too afraid and ashamed to seek help. Being plagued wearing long sleeved shirts is what I will have to live with for now. I only hope that it won't be that way forever.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Ack, this was. weird. This was in 1st person with Ryou as the narrator, incase you didn't catch that. It was supposed to convey Ryou's internal conflict with himself, I guess. I hope you found this somewhat interesting. Please tell me what you think or if there are many mistakes, reviews are always appreciated.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. 


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